


Some Sort of Sense

by spuffyduds



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm tagging my X-Men fic as Movieverse because that is the casting I see in my head, but honestly I have read/watched so many X-men continuities that they all blend together in my brain into one vast Jungian Uber-X. So, if you're one of those impressive people who CAN keep straight which canon is which, my fic may hurt your soul.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Some Sort of Sense

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tagging my X-Men fic as Movieverse because that is the casting I see in my head, but honestly I have read/watched so many X-men continuities that they all blend together in my brain into one vast Jungian Uber-X. So, if you're one of those impressive people who CAN keep straight which canon is which, my fic may hurt your soul.

It actually makes some sort of sense to Scott, after Logan explains it a little.

"So what would you do if you were fighting someone who _knew_ how your powers worked, and they yanked off your visor?"

"Logan," Scott says, reasonably. He hears that in his head now--_Scott says, reasonably_\--every time he says anything. Because he _is_ being reasonable. Because he's not walking around screaming at the eighth-grade mutants, because he's not punching holes in the walls for the beleaguered maintenance staff to fix, because he's not Logan.

"Logan," he says, reasonably. "If somebody knew how my powers worked, _why_ would they pull off my visor? It'd be suicide by X-man."

"Not in a crowd," Logan says. He starts gesticulating wildly, sketching out a fight scene in the air with his smoldering cigar, ignoring Scott's winces. Or possibly enjoying them. "You're in a crowd, right? You're in the middle of Wal-Mart."

"_Why_ would I--"

"Shut up. You're in a huge crowd, and the villain of the month is _whaling_ on you. Heinrich von Doomazorg, or whoever. And you've had about enough of _his_ shit, and you start to raise your visor up one little twitch and precision-fry the bastard, and he reaches over and grabs your visor OFF. And he's hunkerin' down, and here's"--cigar wave--"sweet old Grandma right behind him. And there's"--cigar wave--"Girl Scouts to the left of him and"--big cigar flourish--"_nuns_ to the right of him. So."

"So," Scott says. "I have to close my eyes."

"Yeah," Logan says. "And you _have_ to learn to fight with your eyes closed."

"Huh," Scott says. Fucking Logan is making fucking sense.

And, because Scott is an honorable man, he clenches his jaw tighter for a second, and says, "That actually makes a lot of sense."

******************************************************

It makes sense to Logan in an entirely different way, and that is the way that involves him kicking Scott's ass.

Because Scott is being calm and collected and reasonable. He took a couple of days off, right after the funeral; but since then he's been his usual self, more iceman than Iceman is. Confabbing with Professor X on long-range plans for the school, leading the younger classes on nature walks into the woods, grading papers.

And Logan? Well--he had to go back to work when Scott did, right? Because, if _he_ can do it--Scott, the official chief mourner. The only one with any claim, any _right_ to the big grief. Then Logan has to be able to do it.

Except he can't. He's not making it. Official chief mourner doesn't seem to be _having_ the official grief. And Logan's drinking too much every night and paying for it every day. (_Why_ doesn't the healing factor work for hangovers? Fuck knows.) His head hurts all the time, and he's screaming at the kids, and every time he sees Scott walk by with that calm pretty smile he has to just get OUT of there before he hurts somebody, bolt out into the trees.

So one day he's running, full-tilt through the forest, trying to get too tired to be angry, and he comes out suddenly into a clearing where some of the littler kids are playing. One of them's standing on a big rock, one of the furred-all-over ones that even the Prof can't talk into wearing clothes. Her hands are curled into claws, she's growling at the other kids who are shrieking in pretend fear.

Logan starts to walk up to the rock and tell her--what _is_ her name, anyway? he can't remember--to get down before she hurts herself. And just as he walks up behind her she yells at the other kids, "I'm Dark Phoenix and I'm gonna fry your ass!" and they're all laughing, and SNICKT.

He manages not to cut her in half. He manages to bury all his claws in the rock a couple of inches below her feet. She turns around and looks at him, startled for a second, probably worried. He expects that he doesn't have a rep as the nicest teacher. And then she looks down at his fists pressed against the rock and laughs.

"Are you _stuck_?" she says.

"Yeah," he says, because if he takes his claws out of that rock he will kill her. "Piss off, kid."

And membranes suddenly flare out from her wrists to her ankles and she glides down from the rock, and she and her friends scatter into the woods.

Oh yeah, he thinks. Her name's Flying Squirrel.

Then he retracts his claws from the rock, pounds on it until he's broken every knuckle. Heals up and does it again.

And somewhere in there, while he's pounding the shit out of that rock and getting blood-flecks in his hair, he starts to hatch a plan.

He's not much of a planner, usually. But this--this needs to happen. Because Scott, calm and perfect and _recovered_ chief mourner Scott, needs to feel like this. Needs to feel lost and angry and stupid.

*****************************************************

They go into the Danger Room, turn on a few lights, stretch a little.

"So," Scott says, clears his throat. "Visor off?"

"Wait a minute," Logan says. He fiddles with the programming controls, presses some keys, and the room goes suddenly silver. Mirrored--walls, floor and ceiling. It's the two of them, above and below and beside, over and over.

"What--" Scott says.

"So you _really_ can't open your eyes. You'd fry yourself."

"Well, that's a little extreme."

"Pussy."

Scott looks at him. "Fine," he says. "So. What'd you program for me to fight?"

Logan wants to say something hokey like, your worst nightmare. Or, the _other_ mourner. Or, the would-have-been your replacement, soon, if--

But he just reaches out and yanks off Scott's visor.

"Hey! What are you--" but Scott stops talking when Logan kicks him in the stomach, and when he's doubled over from that, looking like fucking Oswald, Logan punches him hard in the side of the head, and he's down.

Logan's on him then, pinning him to the floor, and Scott's thrashing and cursing but his eyes are squeezed tight closed and Logan's hoping he realizes what a fucking moron he is, what a patsy.

He sits up on Scott's chest, and before Scott can take a blind swing he _snickts_ out one claw from each hand and carefully--calmly!--puts the tip of one to Scott's neck, watches as the struggles stop and Scott constructs a smile.

"Hey, very funny," Scott says. "You can stop now."

Logan reaches behind him with his other arm, rests that claw tip right in Scott's crotch, and Scott shuts up. _He really doesn't know I won't do it,_ Logan thinks and for a second he's giddy, because for a second _he_ doesn't know he's not gonna do it. It's a rush.

Then Logan slices down the placket of Scott's tidily pressed shirt. Because this is phase two of the plan. He's gonna slice his clothes off and leave him in the middle of the mirrored room, shivering and naked and blind and, Logan imagines, really unimpressively hung. And then he's gonna go over to the gym where the middle-school girls are playing badminton, and he's gonna say, "Hey kids! There's something you've _really_ gotta see in the Danger Room."

Logan's probably gonna get fired. It's worth it.

He gets a little too wrapped up picturing how it's all gonna go, though, and Scott suddenly _clocks_ him. Knocks him right off and then grabs blindly for him, Logan retracts the claws and they're rolling around in a clench, lots of rib punches but nobody's getting enough room or time for any decisive blows. Stupid fuck, Logan thinks, if I'd really been going to do it I _could_ have, then he stops thinking and just fights, and dammit he ought to be able to take out a blind guy but Scott is _wild_, snarling like a dog, Logan's never seen him like this before, and they crash into one of the mirrored walls, there's floor and ceiling looking back at their flailing, too, and they seem to have too many legs, and Scott's kissing him.

The fuck?

He really is. Scott's lips slammed against his hard, and there's a little biting, and that's surprising, he always thought Scott would be very timid and slow, and--when did he _think_ about this? There's almost no razor stubble, because it's _Scott_, but it doesn't feel like a girl, still, it feels somehow--angular. And then there's tongue.

Logan closes his eyes, too. He doesn't need to see this happening a million times. But _feeling_ it is good, it's very good; he's ended up on top, Scott flattened beneath him; Logan's pinning his wrists and grinding against him, and Scott's grinding back a little, and Logan's starting to realize that he was maybe wrong about the badly hung thing. And even with all the bruising and the startled lust there's a little triumphant voice in his head yelling, I got you, Summers. Mr. fucking _control_, and now you haven't got _any_, you can't even _move_ unless I let you--

And Scott makes a horrible noise.

Logan stops grinding, thinks, shit, I _broke_ him, opens his eyes, looks frantically around for blood or bones on the silvered floor. But there's nothing, and Scott keeps making this awful sound, a weird strangled howl, and then raises his head just a little, the only movement left he can make, and tucks his wet face into Logan's neck.

"Oh," Logan says.

He almost bolts, almost tries to say something helpful, almost laughs in panic. But he just stays where he is, pinning Scott flat, for a long while. He closes his own eyes, again, out of some weird--respect.

After the noises stop Logan stands up, looks Scott over. He looks limp and sort of--floppy. Uncreased. His shirt is pretty thoroughly shredded; he throws an arm over his closed eyes.

Logan shrugs off his shirt, drops it on Scott so he can get back to his room with no questions. (Logan walks through the halls shirtless all the time anyway, just to piss Emma off.) He finds Scott's visor, picks it up, puts it in his hand. Putting it on for him would be too...intimate, or something.

Scott's not putting it on, just lying there. Logan walks to the door, taps at the controller until the room goes from silver to white.

"I turned the mirrors off," he says. His voice sounds weird now.

"Thanks," Scott says, and Logan goes back to his room.

 

\--END--


End file.
